


And Deliver Us From Evil

by hellhoundsprey



Series: ficlet prompts [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Bondage, Bottom Sam, Caning, Captivity, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Priest Castiel, Sensory Deprivation, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 12:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Prompt: WE NEED TO TIE UP SAM. He likes it more when he's choking and bruised. Any variation of Dean and Cas attempting to control an angry stubborn Sam would be amazingly appreciated.Hells to the yeah.





	And Deliver Us From Evil

When Sam told me his brother and he had a complicated relationship, he was understating. I didn’t know at that time. I didn’t know quite a few things at that time.

Sam’s still got this fight in his eyes after three days without food. As far as I know him, he doesn’t find much joy in eating. When I met him, he was just another stringbean guy. His brother, he’s different. I was lucky—the times there was too little food available, I was too young to understand.

Dean’s soft around the edges, too soft of a face for a world like this. It seems like all emotion he can show is either pain or fury. He’s let me touch him, once. But for now, he’s too nervous. I’ll have to wait. We have our hands full anyway. I have a good feeling about this.

“We might have to start tube-feedin’ him or somethin’.”

I nod, eyes on Sam’s wiry chest. I see Dean glancing at me in my peripheral.

“You can do that, right?”

“Of course,” I tell him. “I have done it before. Multiple times. I can go get the supplies right now if you want.”

Some of the tension melts away from him. He nods. “Good,” he says. “Tomorrow, maybe. If he still…”

“Yeah.”

We both turn to look at Sam.

I just finished washing him. He drank some water, I switched out the gag. We moved the bed further away from the window, just in case.

I ask Dean, “You?” and he shrugs.

“I can watch,” he offers, and I accept in silence by stepping forward, up to Sam.

Time passes differently in this room. Sam’s stomach jumps as I brush my fingers over it; I hear him taking a steadying breath through his nose. His hands fist around the ropes. He won’t move.

I bend down to kiss him on the cheek. On the nose next, other cheek. Jaw, neck.

I feel his pulse here, ratcheting up like a nervous rabbit. I hear his breath, crumbling. I cannot imagine what his true feelings must be. He told me he liked me, before all this. That he _truly_ liked me, and we went out, we dated, we had sex. He talked to me about things that—according to him—he could never talk about with anyone else.

Sam told me that I understand him, and I think I do. Mostly.

Some things don’t change—I kiss down his neck and he cranes his head, yeah, _away_ , but there is nowhere to go. He might think I’m Dean.

I get a hand on my own cock and stroke myself through my pants. I’m beginning to get hard despite not having done much yet. It was different before the brothers.

“You gon’ beat him?”

Across my shoulder, I spot a seated and sprawling Dean. “You want me to?”

He says, “Whatever,” like any brat. I’ve spoiled his brother before him and I don’t seem to be able to stop there.

I retrieve a cane from nearby and take off my shirt. I position myself so that Dean can see the both of us and, under his undivided attention, brush the very tip of the item down Sam’s breastbone.

The reaction is immediate.

“He enjoys this a lot,” I explain, familiar with many parts Sam’s brother hasn’t bothered with up to this point. It’s always just been a game to Dean. But me, I don’t ‘play’.

Sam’s chest shudders. I hear the faintest sigh through the gag. He might be closing his eyes now, underneath the blindfold.

I rake the tip of the cane lower until I reach the base of his cock. I brush the cane flat across it, gentle, a tease. He twitches. He _strains_ after the touch.

Dean chastises, “You asshole,” under a laugh and I smile at him for it.

I give a few more feather-light touches until he’s beginning to get hard. I then abandon the area altogether and work my cane down his legs until I’ve reached his feet.

Sam’s breathing quickens. Dean is quiet in his armchair. I gather myself.

Sam’s feet, I’ve always adored them. Huge, boney, like his hands. He doesn’t like them himself. There’s few parts of his body he even tolerates. I don’t think it’s fair.

Sam curls his toes. The big one on the left is gonna lose its nail in another few days; I can tell by the shade of purple-ish black. I can see it peeling off at one side, just a little.

I place a first, quick succession of hits into the soft middle of his soles, and Sam yelps into his rag of a gag. He jolts all over but he’s fixed so perfectly I don’t have to adjust, I can just let go, give it my all.

A short pause before I resume.

His skin is littered with all shades of red and blue. Not even a painter could come up with these colors. All but his soles, because those cannot bruise; all of it. It’s rather beautiful.

I am sweating profusely by the time I am done.

I unbuckle my pants and step out of them. “Can you help me with his legs, please?”

I start on the left one and sure enough, Dean is by my side within seconds, untying the other with his hands so steady you wouldn’t think it’d be possible with eyes that glassy, cheeks so heated. He took his pants off when I didn’t notice, is only in his t-shirt and necklace now, so gloriously pale I have to look away.

Sam makes unwilling sounds. He’s a quick learner.

I heave both his legs down and together, and Dean helps to bind a tight package that won’t be able to kick out, that will bend Sam’s pelvis any way I please with a mere push of my hands.

Dean crowds in, all three of us now breathing like animals. Adrenaline and fear and power are so heavy in the air that I feel drunk on it, all three of us on the bed, Dean and I on our knees as if we’re about to pray. I grab the lube and slick my cock with a handful of it and Dean groans a, “Fuck,” that Sam can’t hear through the earplugs—but which makes me shudder from head to toe, twitch in my hand, and I abandon Sam’s legs for a second to grab at Dean’s face instead, jerk him onto my mouth and I kiss him like that. I feel him pulling back, at first, but I cram in harder, push my tongue into his mouth, and he lets me. God, he lets me.

I let go of him to dedicate all my focus to this act in front of me, to _Sam_. All I could think about ever since it ended, earlier today, when I washed his face and his eyes and his genitals and treated his sores—what I wanted since he took my hand during service and looked at me like I could save him. And I can. In a way, I _am_ freeing him.

I use my hand to steady the slide of the first few centimeters and then I let go, both hands onto his glorious, intimidating legs and I just sink deep, deep, and deeper. Until he’s consumed all of me, and I shudder, in reverence, in love, bowed over him like a dying man.

A hand comes down on my lower back and I startle at it before I realize it’s Dean, turn my head to see him and his face is right in mine—he kisses me, all by himself now, and I groan into his mouth, both of these wonderful souls in my undeserving hands. I begin to hump his brother’s ass under his ministrations, the pressure of his hand, and when I fulfilled his requirements, he slips his fingers lower until he rubs at my asshole. I gasp, honestly surprised, but grateful.

I cannot possibly last long under these conditions. As always, I empty inside of Sam—as always, Dean insists on cleaning me after I’ve pulled out. He’s been in so many fights, it’s a miracle he’s still got such flawless teeth. It’s a miracle a man like him has made it this long in this wasteland.

He doesn’t push me away, he _guides_ me. He settles in in my place, rucks his shirt up just so, and closes his eyes as he strains forward—slow, unrelenting.

The sun is about to set over the mountains, and I watch, tired, peacefully.


End file.
